Can't argue with elves
by pinkfuzzygorillasinyourface
Summary: in my own, alternate-universe version of Alagaesia, fifty years before the events of the first book, tension is brewing between the elves and their oppressed human slaves, a tension that the human leader, Galbatorix, might just exploit. Read and review.
1. Evergreen Manor

Titled: Conflict of Interest

First chapter: Evergreen Manor

the walls of Evergreen Manor had a rather leafy appearance, the sap from the roughened bark flowing in golden currents down the side, while, despite the most rigorous clipping on the part of the maid, Linda, green leaves and shoots popped out from the side, infringing into the house mistresses living space. The aforementioned Linda hurried after her mistress, Tamer'zadi, while carrying a wastebasket full of clippings in the general direction. She knew from long experience that interrupting her mistress in mid-conversation was a bad idea, but without the Elvish gift of magic, she had to carry the basket under one arm, a small knife in the other, hacking away at the branches sticking out of the walls. Arya, she reflected, never had branches sticking out of her walls. Tamer'zadi just happened to suck at magic, Linda thought bitterly, and her servant-girl had to take the blame. How one was supposed to hack a branch off with a blunt knife with the same ease that one's pointy-eared overlord might bring to cutting her ear off or slitting her tongue for doing a job poorly, she didn't know.

"and you hear this, Girl, wait until you hear this. It's so funny, I can't believe she actually said this to me." the voice was coming from the kitchen, and Linda perked up, feeling a lot more obedient now. It was, by the Elvish timekeeper mounted o the back wall, the third hour of the latter day. She hadn't eaten since yesterday morning, which would not pose a problem for an oh-so-superior elf, but the poor lowly human felt as though her stomach was digesting itself. It must have something to do with being inferior, she thought darkly, as she entered the kitchen, thrusting the basket up still farther. The pointed ears of her owner swiveled, and the inhuman pupils dilated as she bumped into something. The woman relaxed quickly, so quickly that if Linda hadn't spent her entire life waiting on elves, learning their moods and patterns, and avoiding their capricious anger, she might not have seen it. As it was, she ripped her gaze away from the pile of seedcakes on the table-surely too many for one person?- and curtsied, the basket digging into her chest, the woven fibers imprinting themselves in the skin below her breasts. "yes, Mistress? What were you saying?"

The elven lady laughed, and her laugh was like the trilling of some sort of musical instrument, a beautiful sound to Linda, who knew it as a sign of good humor. She wondered if she could press her advantage. "oh, do you think I'm pretty? I mean, pretty enough to dine with a Rider?"

"my Lady, you are beautiful beyond the evening stars, or the wing of the hummingbird," gushed Linda, putting her suntanned hand to her white tunic, where it parted below her neck. Elvish language was imbued with magic to the point where saying what one believed to be an untruth was blatantly impossible. Therefore, in order to put her mistress in a good mood, Linda had to resort to nonsensical idioms that were not really untrue, but conveyed an impression that did not match her feelings. Next, oddly enough, she felt a poke at the fringes of her mind, and froze. This was the part she really hated about living among elves, not their strength, their decadence, their maddening superiority, their telekinesis, their immortality, their eternal beauty, their viewing of humans as sub-elvish barbarians who lived and died for their entertainment, no, the lack of privacy one had from them. One could not even nurse rebellion in one's own heart without the pointy-eared freaks finding out, and punishing you for your thoughts. Linda still bore the welts and scars from the last time she let a stray recalcitrant thought reach a casual listener, and overwhelmingly panicked at this intrusion, when she heard Lady Tamer'zadi's cheery voice in her head, with the accompanying eerie strains of music that accompanied an elf's presence. She knew humans that had purposely been driven mad by elvish minds, as a punishment for some mental crime. Quickly she looked at the lady's bouffant pink hair streaming down her shoulders, the tribal tattoo markings engraved in purple on her face, her perfect body outlined by the odd tattoos that shifted at will-when undressing her mistress for bed or bath, or simply a clothes change, Linda always noticed the changes in tattoos. They were really pretty, she thought, trying to sound awed in the confines of her skull. I wish I could look like that. I wonder how she managed to grow her fingernails into hawk talons. This last one contained a degree of revulsion, but she squashed it, and, apparently satisfied, the fell music retreated, leaving her with a dazed, dreamy feeling.

"Put the basket down", ordered Tamer'zadi imperiously. Linda looked around, and knelt down, dropping the basket of cuttings to the floor. She remained kneeling, still lightheaded, and put her head down.

"may I feed?" she asked. Tamer'zadi, for an elf, was not especially cruel. She didn't usually starve her human girl, unless she, bored perhaps by her five hundred years of age, decided to see the effects of malnutrition on the human body first-hand. In this case, however, the mistress ignored her completely. "the reason I asked that in the first place, is because Decius is apparently hosting a dinner party at the Crags of Tel'Nair, I know, right? And a shit-ton of dragon riders-with their dragons-will be there. And Arya was just telling me I shouldn't bother going because of my hair-like she knows anything about hair- and I just wanted to tell you how ridiculous that is."

"well, you should definitely go," said Linda in her special gushy voice she reserved for just such occasions. She dropped the knife into the basket, the living wood of the floor hurting her knees. If she waited, though, she might impress old pink-hair with her obedience, and actually eat today. Which would be just _peachy_.

"i might even bring you along with me," the elf continued, reaching out, and scratching Linda behind the ears like a dog, playing with the braid her hair was bound in. "would you like that?"

you know, _Mistress_, thought Linda, after checking her mental privacy, much as I'd love to wait on a group of imperious assholes who think that just because they have a giant monster between their legs somehow gives them the right to light towns on fire, while you and the other decadent pigs of Du Weldenvarden compare hairstyles for the next six hours and I get a spell put over me that prevents me from eating any of the food I'm serving you, because the Dragon Riders forgive me if I eat a mouthful of the giant shit-loads of forest life you will be shoving in your faces. Unless, of course, a dragon rider decides to rape me for fun, or just outright kill me. Because, you know, dragons need to eat too, and I'm only human, not a uber speshul elf princess.

"Girl?"

"oh, right" Linda smiled, getting to her feet as her stomach twisted in pain. "shall I get ready?"

"oh, yes. We'll see who's laughing after I show her my new look. Come by my bedroom after you finish getting ready, and come see me. This is going to be _great_!"

"i know right."


	2. Gameplan

The throne room was dark, spears, shields, and decorative barbarian tapestries hanging off the obsidian-colored walls, which stretched up to a domed ceiling. The Emperor Galbatorix strode around it, oblivious to the barbarian finery therein. Said room was also sparsely furnished, with bare, smooth black floors on which the Dark Lord's feet scuffed, and a flameless lantern in five brackets around the room.

"Naina," snapped Galbatorix in the Elvish tongue, snapping his fingers as a sun-like light popped into existence over a small, modest table in the center of the circular room. He walked over to the table, black robes swishing around his embroidered boots, and stood in an intimidating pose, his hands placed on either side of the map resting there, looking for all the world as if he had been focusing intently for hours.

It wasn't long before Durza appeared, polished black boots clicking on the floor, with the hiss of his breath inaudible to even Galbatorix's supernatural senses. He disliked the creature, with it's bloodlust, emotionlessness, and intractability, but found it to be useful. Its advice had even proved useful from time to time, and one had to keep track of it somehow. He didn't make the damn thing, but he could certainly find ways to use it.

"Greetings-Majesty," the creature said, with a contemptuous hiss to its voice. Its black, snake-skin robes seemed to be hovering on the edge of substantiality, a black smoke emanating from the edges as it walked over to the king. It's hair was blood-red, and its eyes were a darker reddish color, which deeply unsettled him. It was unnatural, he thought, that such things should exist in this world, but, like everything else, they had their uses.

"Ah, are we having problems with the elves again?" the monster asked in an almost patronizing tone, looking at the map, which had the Du Weldenvarden forest outlined in red on it. Galbatorix hissed thinly, looking into the beast's eyes. Then, composing himself, he stepped back.

"That's right, Durza. As it stands, we are on the brink of war with the Elven Empire, and you're supposed to be finding me a solution."

"I have little to report, _sir_. If you wish, I can attempt to sneak a small battalion into the forest." The contempt did not leave the Shade's voice, as he stood back, with an uncomfortable stillness that made him look like a stone statue, although Galbatorix knew from experience that he could move quickly enough when roused.

"That wouldn't accomplish anything."

"But why not, Father?" A clear young voice rang out from the background, at the entrance to the room. Galbatorix motioned his only son and heir, Vercingetorix, forward, feeling his heart lighten. The boy was now occupying most of his time with such princely activities as hunting, fishing, swordplay, dragon-riding, and magic, and at the age of twenty-two had little time for his old father. The boy had, however, apparently been neglecting his studies on battle-strategy. "I mean, I could lead, say, a small division of troops into their Capital. Once I captured their leader, I could have a small group of Lethrblaka and dragons standing by to take me out with the hostage. Were their Queen endangered, they would be far more civil."

"And what would you do with _their_ dragons?"

"Well, it would be a straight-up battle, but we have superior numbers. We could win this, I really believe we could. With the Capital fallen, the rest of the empire would go in a matter of months."

"It's a good idea," said the king, appearing to think it over. "Really, it is. There's just a couple flaws in the plan."

Prince Vercingetorix looked hurt. "Such as..."

Durza opened his blood-red lips, revealing vampiric fangs. "The fact that it's bullsh..."

Galbatorix cut him off. "First of all, getting there might be an issue. The elven cities are basically magically modified trees, which blend in perfectly with their surroundings.

"You could find it, though! Weren't you trained in their Capital?"

"If you'll let me finish, the entirety of their empire is protected by miles and miles of impenetrable forest. You could easily spend your entire life wandering around in there, getting picked off one by one, as the elves saw fit, being killed by a spell, since the defensive magic that rings the forest annuls any pre-existing magic, or simply starving to death. The airspace around the forest is protected by scores of Dragon riders. There is a system in place which will allow for the entire attack force to be mobilized if any intrusion is detected. A series of magic mirrors will convey this message across the forest. Even if you managed to get a dragon fleet in, it is highly unlikely you would get it out again. Also, when planning to invade the city, consider this; every elf is about ten times stronger than a human."

"Not ten times stronger than me!", snapped the prince, bringing his clenched fist down on the table, punching a hole in the wood, which was several inches thick. "Heal," he said in the common language, without bothering with Elvish, and the bruised hand obeyed.

"you are skilled, my son. That I do not deny." V_ery stupid, but nonetheless._ "the other Dragon Riders are similarly skilled, and we have almost twenty of them left. The elves only have twelve. Durza here has been shot at by ten men, who only managed to hit the wall behind him. He has punched through a brick wall, and a man's chest. He can clear the top of a small house in a single bound. I myself," he added, throwing a look at the monster, which was as impassive as always, and noting with some surprise that a trio of Ra'zac had entered the room, "have the power of hundreds of dragon hearts behind me. I can tear metal, and kill dragons. My own dragon, Shruikan, Emperor of the Skies, is large enough to tear most dragons apart."

"I'm not seeing how this means we shouldn't fight. We far outnumber those pointy-eared bastards."

"Not in their territory, with a small battalion of men, we don't. And remember, in our Empire, a man is weak, and few of us can do magic. Every elf, every single one, is stronger than the strongest man, and they can all do magic. And they have had literally hundreds to thousands of years of training in the art of combat. And, you're forgetting the magic spells. In the thousands of years since these creatures first came to inhabit their leafy domain, they have successively placed spell after spell on the forest, forcing it into the shape they desire, bending it so that the entirety of the land will conspire to attack any perceived menace. Within their forest, they are safe from any attacker.

"so, why is this even being considered?" the speaker was another man, called Lord Barst. He was the general of the Imperial army, and was a fine commander. Galbatorix happened to know that even the Varden studied his campaigns, and the elves based many of their battle strategies off of him. "i mean, if they stay in their forest, what difference does it make to us?"

The emperor turned to Barst, watching him quail under his glare. "Because they aren't staying in their forest. Instead, they seek to undermine our Empire by passing under-the-table funding to various terrorist groups, kidnapping our citizens, siding with the dwarves-who seek to destroy us as well-and burning our cities."

There was a sharp hiss from the Ra'zac in the corner, and the other assembled warriors who had filed in during the king's little speech muttered among themselves. Even Vercingetorix gasped. Durza, however, did not look surprised.

"If I may, sir," he said, stepping to the middle of the room, and clapping his pale hands twice, causing showers of sparks to fly around the room. The king stepped back, irritatedly. Durza ignored him, beginning to speak.

"Lately, we have received intelligence that the Varden, which, as most of you know, is a known terrorist organization set on the destruction of our Emperor, and our Empire, is being frequented by the presence of an elf."

Barst frowned. "I was frequented by the presence of an elf yesterday. At the Torkenbrand slave market! Does that make me a terrorist?"

Durza cast the general a cool look. "If you exchanged gifts with him, and promised him support, certainly. Especially since this individual was Thu'vir, the noted Elvish ambassador."

Galbatorix waited for the commotion to die down, folding his arms within his cape, and half-closing his eyes. When he deemed it appropriate, they snapped open. "I have also heard," he said, projecting his smooth speaking voice louder than usual, that the city of Tamarel has been liquidated."

"How is this possible?" demanded Vercingetorix, clenching his fists angrily.

"Brute force," replied Galbatorix coolly. "A squadron of dragon riders attacked the city, setting the major buildings on fire, and destroying many of the hiding places for the troops. Then, when the townsfolk were exposed-and remember, the chaos with the civilians running about on the streets, the panic of sudden attack, the fire, and the disorganization all made it very hard to set up any defensive system- they used the be-not spell indiscriminately in the town. As you know, the be-not spell transforms living people into pure energy, and contaminates the area around them with toxic radiation."

The lead Ra'zac hissed again, angrily. "So, no survivors. How do we know it was the elves?"

"The be-not spell is not likely to be used by random terrorists. And Durza here"-he gestured to the Shade-''has seen the damage. There were no footmarks of any kind from the city. There was no sign of an attacking force. All there was, was destruction. No other race besides ours has dragons, and certainly not enough to use them offensively against a city."

They all digested this information for a few moments, and then Durza spoke up. "It is hypothesized, however, that a number of humans were taken to the elf cities to serve as slaves."

Vercingetorix looked shocked. "You mean, they keep us as slaves?"

Galbatorix smiled at the boy's naivete. He resolved to take his son with him on his next mission, so he could learn how the world worked in real life, not just training sessions. "Yes. They view humans as an inferior race, so far below theirs that it wouldn't be worth even considering whether they should be treated humanely." He allowed contrived anger to creep into his voice. "Their slaves are, or were, legally bought from traders, like any other commodity, but increasingly, the Varden has been collaborating in slave raids along the border towns. Carvahall, a small peasant village near the Anora River, was hit recently by slavers. Several dozen individuals were reported missing."

"Why, we can't allow that!" Barst roared menacingly, pounding a ham-sized fist on the table.

Galbatorix, instead of debating the ethics of the matter, reinforced the spell that kept the conversation here secret, as well as the ones that stopped the speakers from discussing what they had heard. He looked toward Barst with a slight smile. "Yes, we can. In fact, I want to see to it that the slave population in Du Weldenvarden is _very_ extensive. I would also appreciate it," he stopped for a second, his resolution wavering. His son was good, it was true-skilled at everything a Dragon Rider and prince should know- but some irrational, parental part of him refused to send him off, to allow the boy to risk his life in such a manner. Still, he sighed to himself, sometime the young man, the same one he could remember cradling in his arms before handing him over to the nurse for feeding, taking him to see the dragons when he was five, personally tutoring in magic at age twelve, sometime Prince Vercingetorix would have to prove his mettle, and it might as well be now.

The others looked at him curiously. He swallowed hard, and continued, his fingers unconciously fiddling with the hole in his desk, breaking off bits of wood, and shredding them between his fingers. "I would appreciate it if several of my best men could arrange for themselves to be sold to the elves, there to foment revolution. I think wandering dazedly around the forest should do the trick. You must be human, a capable fighter, good at shielding your mind-very good at shielding your mind- and a good magic user."

"I will, and a detachment of my best fighters and assassins," proclaimed Lord Barst.

Galbatorix didn't have to consider this one. "Of course. Make sure, however, that you don't _look_ like assassins, warriors, and the like."

"I will shadow them, with my associates,to assist if need be," hissed the Ra'zac leader, he with a silver medallion on his otherwise featureless cloak.

"No, you won't. They're racist about us, genocidal about your kind. You would be hunted down the minute a passing elf saw you."

"They cannot detect me with their spells. We can hide on the darkest of nights, and smell prey over a mile off. If they try to hunt us, it is they who will die."

"The word is no. Even you would get lost in the forest, and your parents would never approve. You could never venture into the cities undetected."

The Ra'zac bowed, and returned to its place. The emperor's eyes met his son's.

"I could go, Father. I am capable at battle and magic. I have the powers of any elf."

Galbatorix looked sadly at his son's eager face, before nodding, almost imperceptibly, in his direction. "Very well."


	3. The Dinner Party

chapter three:

The Crags of Tel'Nair were typically abandoned nests of dragons, constructed out of stone melted in various shapes, with shards of past eggshells lying among the jagged rocks. They were the site of the greatest massacre in Elven-Dragon history. Thousands of years ago, the elves discovered the secret rookery of the dragons, and ambushed them in their sleep. Not one survived. This key defeat had been one of the events that ensured the formation of the Dragon-Elf pact, in which the dragons were required to send in a certain portion of their eggs to the capital city, to train as fighters for the Elvish Empire.

The elves retained their grip on these rocky outcroppings, so far from civilization, but they were now used for the celebration of dragons, not their destruction. The formations reached up to the sky, taller than any tree, and were nearly impenetrable. No dragon lived here now, but several lesser predators, such as hawks, eagles, and owls roosted among the lofty crags, safe from outside interference. Old brittle bones, discarded scales, and the melted rock formations bore witness, however, to the mightier predators that had once dwelled there.

Nowadays, the stone was a popular place for parties, especially involving the dragons, or those who rode them. Already, though the sun was beginning to set, and elves were gathered around a table set in the rocks, made of the same stone that the cliffs themselves were made of.

A certain Lady Tamer'zadi, her hair a lavish, light pink, her robes verdant green with jade trimmings, her lips puffed up beyond what looked possible for a natural being, and her fingers shaped into draconic claws for the occasion, lightly sprang her way over the craggy rocks, whose sharp points indented her embroidered gold slippers which, despite the light gold covering on the bottom, didn't offer much protection for her feet.

"These shoes do nothing for me," she snapped angrily, shaking a foot in disgust. "I can't believe Arya decided to have a party all the way out here!"

Her personal serving-girl, Linda, was not in a mood to sympathize. Her bare feet felt torn and raw as she tried to navigate the sharp stones in the twilit dusk. Looking up was difficult, due to the heavy tray of cakes she was carrying on her back, but she could see the fires of the celebration in the distance, hear the laughing and shouting, and smell the powerful animal odor of the dragons, huge creatures gathered among the rocks, some looking asleep, others only bored. They were truly titanic creatures, the smallest among them bigger than a house, the largest over a hundred feet long. Linda felt a new burst of despair. She had not had overly hopeful expectations of the party, and knew that she was going to be very miserable the next morning, but she especially hated dragons. The creatures were just like elves in attitude, but did not seem even remotely humanoid. One could never relate to them, and she knew that if it pleased one of the revered creatures, she would be torn to pieces by its man-sized fangs. Her mistress would never dare complain, and if she did, the dragon's Rider would only pay her back for the damage, a few coppers at most. There was no defense possible from these creatures, there was no way a human could possibly placate or appease it-they were simply giant, terrifying reptiles who had even more contempt for humans than elves did. She sighed, feeling her stomach twist in fear, and continued along the rocks, narrowly avoiding a treacherous gap between two of them.

The feasting table, she would readily admit to anyone, was fantastic. Entire cakes larger than a man, heaping platters of giant-sized fruit, even a giant wild pig adorned the table, and the girl, who had not eaten since the previous morning, now felt tormented by the unobtainable delicacies resting before her, barred by a spell that induced vomiting in the starving teenager if she so much as placed a cookie in her mouth without permission.

She sighed, hoping perhaps to be thrown some scraps after the feast-the Riders were supposed to be generous, after all- and unloaded the tray of cakes, placing them gently on the table, murmuring "masters," under her breath, and backing away, bowing humbly. Shouts of acclamation came from the table as Tamer'zadi was congratulated on her dish, and Linda allowed herself some pride, as she had been the one to slave away over the stove for hours on end, preparing the dish.

"Oh, did you?" a voice sneered, as she felt an invasive presence inside her mind. She turned around, heart pounding, and faced Vanir, a young male elf from the House Haldthin, who was viewing her contemptuously from six inches of added height. He was a well-to-do youngster, with several younger brothers, and a wealthy family who owned one of the largest trees in the forest. Linda immediately felt a jolt of fear pass through her. For no discernible reason, Vanir treated her with a mixture of pitying disdain, and outright hatred. Ever since she was a young girl, the elf had always hated her, and never lost an opportunity to mistreat the young human. Linda felt angered at his presence now, already compounding the misery of the night, but also oddly exposed. Her sole garment, a decorative green tunic, was admittedly too small for her, and it came too high on her thighs and low on her neck for her to be comfortable in it around her enemy, but that was not her major worry. No, she disliked his almost compulsive picking at her mind, his examining her thoughts, dreams, fantasies, and desires as if he was flipping through a book, using her most private thoughts to get her punished, and to humiliate her. She had always, she had to admit, made a game of circumventing his will, trying to avoid and evade him, and show the elf as little respect as possible, but now, with the guests calling for food, she decided to try to appease the young tyrant.

"Yes, Master, I made the cookies. They are right over on the table if you wish to try one."

"Could you possibly be trying to get away, little monkey?" he asked as Linda backed off. He wrapped his thin, pale fingers around her arm faster than the human eye could follow, holding her in place like a helpless doll. The strength in the fingers was enough to bring bruises to her limb in seconds, and her eyes watered in pain. Linda felt as though the arm had been cast in stone. His amber eyes widened as he approached her, bringing her face close to his, and almost lifting her off her feet. The pain in her arm intensified, as she was lifted closer to his. At the same time, she felt a spike of mental energy stab into her mind, causing her to shudder with the pain. Feeling a panicky sensation at the thought of her recent dreams being jeered at by her most hated enemy, she adopted a technique she had used, clinging to a scrap of song from her early childhood that she could not place. "you think you can defy me?" he snarled angrily, the voice resonating within her mind, the ethereal music unbearably loud.

"Please-I don't know what you want from me!"

"You know damn well. I know your sort, always trying to plot and scheme behind your master's backs, then acting all innocent when you get found out."

Linda had always had a conviction that Vanir was at least partially insane-his temper seemed to back that up- but his furious ranting convinced her of the truth.

"Vanir!" the voice belonged to the father of her tormentor, who seemed irritated. This evening was just getting better and better.

The pressure in her mind relaxed, and her arm was released. She fell to the ground, cradling the grabbed arm, which felt as if it were broken. Experimentally, she wiggled her fingers, and was pleased to see their response.

"Whatever are you doing to the human?" the father, Arundil, seemed stern, but fortunately not angry at Linda.

"Oh, she's being disobedient again. It's a wonder anyone tolerates her."

"Why do you have so many problems with this human?" asked Anduril in an exasperated tone of voice. Linda got to her feet, looking nervously from one elf to another. If Vanir's father left him alone with her, she would probably be beaten, and have a headache to last her several days, but if his father embarrassed his son by confronting him, his revenge would be far worse.

Vanir was looking awkwardly from side to side, a single foot scuffing the rocks as he crumbled a pebble between his fingers. "Oh, she never listens to anything I say. She's slow, and clumsy, and insolent."

"Linda," said Arundil in a calm tone of voice, turning to face the human, "kneel."

Quaking, the girl obeyed. Arundil was known as a man of good judgment, but also for his strong sense of social justice, and the proper place of a human in Elvish society. Accordingly, she must be punished for her reported insolence. _It's not fair_, she thought, _I wasn't rude to him. I tried to be nice!_ Tears filled her eyes as her bare knees hit the sharp rocks a shard opening up a tiny cut in her skin.

"Stand." once again, she obeyed unequivocally, scraping her knee open in her eagerness to comply. What could the man possibly want?

"Fetch me some of your mistresses cookies." So what was the kneeling and standing for? Maybe he felt threatened by his son's claim that a human wasn't listening to him, and decided to order her around to show his Elvish superiority. Her heart sank, knowing that such insecure individuals would often find some infraction in the service rendered, and punish it simply to make a point.

Linda quickly ran to the table, reaching out an arm to take several cookies from the plate, which was almost empty.

"What are you doing?" One of the dragon Riders wrapped his hand around her wrist, looking her in the eyes with his scarred face, which bore several burn marks, and a cut on the right cheek. He seemed different than the other elves, more somber and serious. It was hard to imagine him watching a pair of slaves fight for amusement, turning his hair pink, or make a flower that sang bawdy drinking songs at any passer-by. "It's for Master Anduril," she breathed, in Elvish, which meant it was impossible to lie. The elf raised an angular eyebrow, but released Linda, and she raced with her handful of cookies over to the two elves.

"Well, I see she obeys _you_," whined Vanir. "But it's different with me. She shows no respect for me. She refuses to take orders."

"Where is this _refusal_ coming from? She is a human, you are an elf. She is a slave, you are free. You command, she obeys. How can any disobedience be possible? She can't even use magic!"

Anduril broke off the conversation as he was presented with the food. "Thank you, Linda. You may have one."

"You see! She's always getting favored by everyone, she's pampered by Tamer'zadi, and she's like a housecat that sits on a pillow and smiles down at all the little people. If I owned her, I'd teach her how to be a _rea_l slave!" Vanir spat out his words angrily, looking in fury at the girl as if she had just killed his family. Linda didn't feel any mental contact, and allowed herself a few moments of anger. She was arrogant? Not, say, the one who beat her for having recalcitrant thoughts? Or the one who magically choked her when she was a few minutes late fetching his leggings? Maybe demanding his boots be kissed when offended qualified one as arrogant?

"She is a slave, nothing more. Would you think of treating a horse or dog in this manner?"

Vanir said nothing.

"Then don't do it to her. She is not your rival, or your enemy. She is simply an animal that serves us, nothing more, and acting like she has challenged you to a duel is both childish and unseemly, do I make myself clear?"

Vanir looked at Linda with an undiluted hatred that made her shiver, and mumbled something indistinct.

"I _said_, do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Father."

"Good. Your uncle Haldin wishes to speak with you, I believe. How about we go greet him as elves, not Urgals?" He muttered a string of words under his breath, and turned to Linda with some surprise. "Do not eavesdrop," he told her.

The conversation had been awkward for Linda, although she now knew to avoid Vanir for the next few years. Still, she had not received permission to leave, and the lure of the cookie was strong in her mind. Even with her inferior human senses, it smelled delicious, and she was starting to have dizzy spells from hunger. "No, master, I didn't get permission to leave. May I?"

"Yes, of course," he said, absentmindedly turning away. He stopped for a second, and handed Linda a cookie. "Remember what you are," he cautioned, as Vanir sulkily headed toward the dragons, their spikes gleaming in the dark, their Riders moving among them.

"Yes, of course, sir." she steeled herself to contradict an elf, knowing that what she was about to do could have her slain, and burst out, in the least deferential manner possible, "why does he hate me? I only try to serve him! It's not fair that he should treat me like this!"

The older elf did not look angered. "I will not give an accounting of my son's behavior to you. However, I will say this. Continue to serve him well and there shall be no more cruelty from him. I will see to it."

"Thank you, Master."

The elf scowled. "I am not doing this for you, but for him. Good grace is an essential trait of a noble, and if my son learns it at so young an age, so much the better. He must control his temper, or he will not stay in power long. Now, eat the cookie."

"Thank you," said Linda, and, when Anduril's eyebrows met, she added, "for the cookie."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - – – – – – – – –- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Linda returned to the table, fetching and carrying for a few minutes, alone with her thoughts, before a perky blonde elbowed her in the side. "what was that all about?"

Linda smiled despite herself, not having seen a fellow human for almost a year. "vanir hates me. But there's good news, I'm apparently so far down on the social ladder that it would be stupid to hate me."

"No offense, but you kind of are. Have you met the dragons yet?"

"No, but I will." Linda looked around for any more requests. The giant boar's meat was running low, and many of the guests were simply amusing themselves with magic tricks, comparing bodily modifications, and vomiting in order to eat more. Which, to Linda, who had had one cookie to eat in the last fourteen hours, was ridiculous. What was the point of eating in the first place if you were going to throw it back up again?

Linda also felt extremely tired by the ceaseless running back and forth after the elves, and the constant telepathic contact with each one, as they drunkenly interposed their requests for extra falenirv into her neural tissue. This may have been responsible for her blearily stumbling off into the small outcropping where the dragons stayed, some occasionally flying off, others staying and making conversation with elves. Her hunger dazed her as well, as knifelike pain stabbed into her stomach, and she could no longer bear to see all this food laid out in front of her, inedible as long as her protective spell lasted. So, she bumped into a large outcropping in the dark. A large outcropping that was both warm, and covered with sharp scales.

"Oh, shit," Linda muttered, feeling that this was turning into a really rotten night. Dragons, she knew, were extraordinarily sensitive creatures, and very unpredictable. So were elves, for that matter, but at least their expressions and moods were recognizable to humans, and they didn't tend to eat much meat. The pig on the table was probably the first meat the elves had eaten in years, but a dragon could devour it in a single bite.

And then the creature, a dark blue in color, turned its massive head, which was bigger than Linda's whole body, toward her. She smelled its animal scent much more pungently, and saw flames flickering in the pits of its nostrils, flames that could devour the helpless human in a second. It sniffed at her aimlessly, like a dog, its hot breath ruffling her tunic, and then turned its head away, looking up into the sky. Her breathing eased. Slowly, she navigated her way past the legs of the dragon, and, feeling quite dizzy, sat down on the nearest outcropping to rest. She desperately hoped she wouldn't be set to any task when returned home. A pair of elvish girls danced on the table, their only garment a full-length tattoo covering both their bodies, which depicted a rainbow-colored dragon. The dragon seemed to be alive, flowing around their bodies in seemingly impossible ways. Tamer'zadi seemed to have opted for green hair that reached down to her thighs. The Haldir family was gathered around one of the Riders, Oromis, she thought, discussing something that seemed of great importance. Anduril patted Vanir on the shoulder, and made an expansive gesture, and Oromis nodded vigorously. His dragon, a huge gold monster with a missing leg, leaned over and sniffed Vanir's brow, which briefly glistened before returning to normal. Linda's head fell sideways, onto her shoulder, and she struggled for a few seconds to keep her eyes open. The rock was uncomfortable, but she was glad to be away from the elves. A few humans still scurried about, fetching and carrying.

All of a sudden, she felt a presence invading her mind, but unlike any typical presence. There was no music here, but an impression of age, wisdom, and boundless depths. It was utterly alien, and totally unlike any mind she had ever felt. Somehow, she knew it was the dragon she had touched.

_Are you dying?_ The voice asked, without a hint of the contempt or rebuke another might bring to the statement.

"n-no master." she wondered why the question had come up, and hoped that it wasn't because the monster wanted to eat her anyway. The why part might have cropped up, because the dragon replied "_I only ask because you seem to be suffering. Does your species require sleep?"_

Involuntarily, she yawned. "Yes, we do, sir." She stood up wearily, turning to face the fire-lizard, which had lain down with its head facing the horizon. She wondered how to best extricate herself from this situation without being rude. Dragons, she had heard, were not as sensitive to disobedience as elves, but very prickly about rudeness.

_Do you wi__sh to sleep now?_

The dozens of petty slaps and pinches the elves had given her in the course of serving them throbbed in unison with her head and stomach. She wondered if she could possibly beg some food, but decided that the partygoers were still eating. Therefore, they didn't want humans contaminating their food, and to have a creature like her eating off their plate was an insult no elf could ignore. Sleep, or at least rest seemed like the best possible idea, but why would this dragon be offering it?

_"_Am I allowed to?" she asked, wavering.

_It makes no difference to me. You do not seem like you will serve the pointy-ears very well without it. You will not be harmed if you sleep near me, I am not hungry._

Linda smiled, lowering herself fearfully to the rocks, resting her palm on her cheek. The noise from the party had died down, and many elves were returning to their domiciles. If the dragons wanted to hurt her, they could anyway, and she was so very tired. Maybe if she rested for a second...nobody would mind. The dragon didn't seem to.

The next impression she got was of boiling oil landing on her skin, charring and soaking it, as her flesh hissed and burned. A deep dread chilled her, as she realized that despite her orders, training, and long service, she had fallen asleep. Elves could not understand human sleep, and many regarded it as simply laziness, an excuse put on by the entire human species just to get out of work. Linda's mistress was one of these, and the girl could expect no mercy for falling asleep while she was supposed to be acting as a waitress to the most powerful elves in Alagaesia.

She jumped to her feet, rough rock tearing at her skin, whimpering in terror as the boiling liquid poured over her, throwing a hand in front of her face in terror. "forgive me, masters," she shrieked, the first phrase of Elvish she had ever learned , as the liquid blistered her skin.

There were no elves nearby. She was almost unsettled by the concussion as twelve dragon wings took to the skies simultaneously. Her mistress was screaming as elves ran about near the table, some casting spells into the air, others firing silver arrows at the shape in the sky. Linda's breath caught at the figure, despite her pain.

It was ill-defined, black on the starry brightness of the sky, but the shape had wings hundreds of feet wide, a head thicker than the largest boulder, and spikes and claws with the thickness of tree trunks. The terrible beating of its wings was audible even from its tremendous height, and they sounded like a giant rug being beaten. The monster circled over the crags, occasional flashes of lightning reaching out from the capital and striking it, bouncing off harmlessly. The dragons, their jeweled scales gleaming in the werelight provided by the offensive spells, riders perched on their scaled backs, ready for battle, flapped their way upwards toward the monster. The first, the blue dragon that had protected a tired slave girl while she slept under its wing, reached the great black dragon, which hovered in one place, as its wing-beats sent regular gusts of wind over the stone outcroppings, spreading food everywhere, and sending the elves tumbling. Vanir grabbed his youngest brother, holding him in place with a spell, and ran forward, grabbing a sword, and magically lighting it.

Then, when the two dragons were only about one hundred feet apart, the black dragon dived, its back feet hitting the blue dragon squarely on its spine, sending the smaller reptile tumbling. Off of his back, an even tinier figure fell, the torso of an elf, blood streaming out behind it as it splattered on the sharp rocks. Again the first dragon attacked, with such a fury that Linda could hear a scream of pain from the giant black dragon, and a horrifying roar from the blue. Another gout of dragon blood fell onto the rocks, spattering her skin and burning where it touched. The two beasts were impossible to distinguish for a few moments, then the first one among them fell tumbling from the sky, where it smashed, ironically enough, into its old roosting place, wings shredded, hot blood oozing from various wounds, head half torn off, jeweled scales littering the ground. Its tail, severed cleanly, hit the ground a few seconds after it did, twitching like a lizard's.

Linda felt a rush of compassion for the creature that had showed her kindness and allowed her to shelter near it. Quickly, she ran toward it, but she could see that there was nothing anyone could do, and instead placed a small hand on its forehead.

The voice filled her mind, accompanied by its pain, and she almost retched from the shared agony. Then the creature mastered itself and spoke, in a ragged voice, inside the confines of the slave's mind.

_I...require...sleep._

Morbidity brought a soft smile to Linda's face. "Do you wish to sleep now?"

_I...am allowed._ With this the blue head toppled to the side, yellow eyes closing for the last time, a final gush of blood blistering her torn feet. Above, the attacker was being harried by the remaining Riders, who shot what appeared to be lightning bolts of different colors at him. Several flights of silver spears, magically propelled, shot toward the aggressor, breaking in midair closer and closer to the tiny figure atop the dragon that roared, and fled, pursued by the other dragons. Slowly, they dwindled into specks, before vanishing into the distance, tiny flashes of flame betraying their positions. Linda ran to Tamer'zadi, anxious now, and trembling, wishing only to go home. The woman looked at her for a few seconds before really realizing who Linda was, and then turned to the Queen's daughter, Arya, who stood wreathed in green fire, bolts of electricity flaring around her fingers, and staring intently up at the sky.

"Is that what you call a party?


	4. Declaration of War

"So, you crashed an elf party?" asked Vercingetorix nervously. "Were they having an orgy?"

Galbatorix, emperor of the largest human governmental body, ruler of the West Coast, the Silver Sea, and the rim of the formidable Hadarac Desert, lay back on a reclining couch while a pair of healers chanted and applied tonic to his wounds. "No, they're having it in my head," he groaned, motioning impatiently at the Healers, as they directed their magic at his left leg, which had a bad burn on it. "yessir," one murmured, applying a pain-canceling spell.

"I'm not surprised," laughed Lord Barst, who stood before the emperor with his team of elite forces, waiting to do battle. "Taking on the entire Du Weldenvarden imperial air force! That will be sung about for many ages."

"Nothing will be sung in my presence until the wound on my head fully heals," growled Galbatorix, looking meaningfully at the healer. "I mean, are these people just for decoration?"

"Are you fit yet?" a cold voice snapped as Durza the Shade walked into the room. Galbatorix clapped a hand on his forehead, and painfully sat up, his ribs flaring. He sucked it up, and forced some more energy out of his overtaxed dragon hearts, healing his wounds almost instantaneously. He would still enjoy sleep, but the energy fortified him to some degree, which was good, because he was probably going to be expected to heal Shruikan next, and the big dragon had it far worse than he did. In fact, he was currently hiding in his specially constructed lair, and refusing to acknowledge his master's telepathic signals.

"Oh, I'm very fit," snapped the Emperor. "What is it?"

"Well, we might have to reschedule Operation Lost-and-Found."

"And why is that?" Was the stunt with the dragon all for nothing?

"Well, I have the Elf Queen Islanzadi on the scrying mirror making the most _peculiar_ allegation." The Shade now seemed almost humorous, and Galbatorix eyed him blackly.

"Does it involve the ruining of her daughter's dinner party?" Galbatorix spoke in his smooth, collected tone, his Chessmaster voice. It was excellent at convincing others he was one step ahead of them, and intimidating subordinates. Who weren't Durza.

"Funnily enough, it _does_" drawled Durza in his bored tone. "And it's a real shame, because that means that the elves will double their inner security, their troops patrolling, their Riders riding...you get the idea."

"No," said the Emperor, standing in the middle of the room, "it'll go far beyond that."

"Sir?" interjected Barst curiously.

"Get someone on with Islanzadi, and tell her to suck it. Then tell her we know who destroyed our cities, and that the attack on the elves was just compensation. Also tell her that our next move will be far more devastating. Then, hang up."

"So we are at war with immortal, supernatural beings," hissed the Shade. "Your predecessor made the same mistake."

"Yes, well, I am slightly more powerful than my predecessor. I _am_ an immortal, supernatural being. In fact, I believe it was I who drove the elves back to their forest realm, which they still cling to in fear of me."

"The purpose of this new war being?" Durza seemed openly contemptuous now, but Galbatorix was confident the freak would be laughing on the other side of his fanged face when Du Weldenvarden was overthrown, and the elves slaughtered. "Besides, of course, the destruction of our men, the weakening of our nation, and the expenditure of much cash for little benefit?"

"When elves go to war, few are left behind." Slaves are among those. Our infiltrators shall infiltrate when the elf fighters leave, and by the time the elves realize what has happened, they shall be defeated utterly."

"They will, of course, have nothing to lose," remarked Barst. "As well, they may have forced the slaves to swear loyalty to them in their own language, which of course means they will be unable to fight back."

Vercingetorix spoke up. "We can circumvent this by either discovering the person's true name, which will allow us to command them, changing their name by means of idealism-the rebel is not the same person as the defeated slave- or simply killing those they swore loyalty to."

Galbatorix was heartened to hear his son's ideas. "On battle, we shall have a regular war, except that the enemy will be in our territory, and we outnumber them ten to one. Still, such a war will be costly and take up valuable lives. Therefore, we shall attempt to conquer their cities as quickly as possible. They have all of seven major cities, which means if the dragons take three, and the infiltrators take two, then they haven't got a leg to stand on. They march, and we invade. Now, dispatch my message to the queen."

"With good will, Majesty," grinned barst, his small lips curling in amusement.

Galbatorix looked triumphantly at Durza. It seemed that he had been vindicated, but he had to wait until they dined in Ellesmera to fully gloat. Still, there was one flaw in the plan.

"Lord Barst"

"Yes, sir?"

"Uh, reverse the order."

"I'm afraid I don't follow you, My Lord."

"Declare hostilities first, then tell the queen where she can stick her magic bow."

"Ah, yes sir. Right away."


	5. LeaveTaking

The eldest son of Lord Anduril, of the House Haldthin, awoke with a start in his luxurious, leafy bed, as he had every day since he had attended that fateful dinner party. The capital city no longer felt anywhere near as secure, if a dragon and rider could freely invade, and kill one of the elvish fighters. The entire city was hushed, and people rarely spoke of the attack. But even so, every elf knew about the power and might of Emperor Galbatorix, and how he was one of the accursed humans who had enslaved the dragons, bent them to his will and forced them to fight against their natural allies, the elves, pairing them with humans to give the inferior species elf-like powers! This was a perversion against the order of nature. Elves revered nature, and it irked every one of them that the sub-elvish species was capable of meeting its natural masters in battle. He had heard things from his father pertaining to the situation, and knew that the Queen had demanded that Galbatorix account for his actions, whereupon he had laughed in her face, and refused.

Vanir could not take it any longer, as he jumped out of bed, leaves rustling, and paced around the room, his bare feet thumping lightly on the wooden floor. He had always heard about the attacks of the human barbarians, their savagery, and their thirst for blood. They desecrated nature by tearing down the trees and making their houses out of stone, blighting the land. Vanir could not quite accept tha fact that the sheltered city in the forest would be attacked, but just the thought of some human lighting the woods where he grew up on fire, and building an ugly stone hut on the ruins of the family tree made him feel ill. Where would all the animals live, then?

There was a knock on the door. "Stay out," growled the young elf, certain it was a human coming to clean. He couldn't face a human now. Their smell alone was enough to turn his stomach, and to think how they were probably eagerly waiting for the kingdom of Du Weldenvarden to fall, just so they could burn everything, was more than he could bear.

"V-Vanir?" he recognized the voice as belonging to his younger brother, and sighed with relief. "Oh, it's you. I thought...never mind. Just come in..."

The door slowly opened, and a little elf, of about sixteen, walked in, kneading his fingers nervously. Vanir smiled. Teibar had always worshiped his older brother, and he felt more collected just watching the pale young boy walk into the room, whispering "shut" to the door as it slowly creaked into obedience.

"W-where's Dad?" asked the younger elf, sitting on the floor with his knees folded against his chest. Vanir collected himself fully. "He's at a meeting with the queen. We think the humans are probably going to declare war."

Teibar said nothing, and then continued, in a whimpering voice, "did you see that dragon? It was so big. And I can't believe it killed one of ours."

Vanir couldn't speak for a second. The dragon Riders were legends, some of the few to venture from the cosy comfort of the paradisiacal land of the elves, shunning the decadent existence of their peers in favor of risk and adventure on the borders, raiding, battling, and doing other things that Vanir was sure were even more thrilling. To have one killed so suddenly was a blow to the ego of every elf in the city, and shattered his sense of security. But still, his little brother was watching. "They weren't prepared, is all. Anyway, they soon saw him off once they got together, didn't they?"

"I know, but..."

"But what?" Vanir was more forceful than he intended to be, and Teibar whimpered again.

"He almost killed me. I'm supposed to live forever, but I'd be dead if it wasn't for you. You saved me, with that spell."

"Oh, it was nothing," shrugged the older boy. "You are my brother."

Their quiet reverie, neither having much to say to the other, just two frightened children sharing each other's company, was broken by the sounds of footsteps on the stairs. Vanir's father appeared at the doorway, and gestured silently to the young elf, who ruffled his brother's hair affectionately, and followed his father out the door.

He recognized the location they were heading to, a side chamber fortified with protective spells. When he was younger, his father used to take him into the chamber when he had misbehaved, to give him a private talking-to. For similar reasons, humans were often punished there.

Now, from the older elf's grave look, Vanir had the suspicion that something much graver was going to be discussed. His heart sank in disgust as he remembered how much trouble the human bitch gave him at that ill-fated party. She had managed, somehow, to make him look extremely childish and petty in front of everyone there. Even the girl herself had heard him being shamed! Vanir knew he was a man, and a warrior. He had made up his mind after seeing the torn bodies of the Rider and dragon bleeding on the rocks. He was going to fight for his house, his family, and his race, even if he died in the process. He should not be made to look a petty child, angered at a mere animal for his childhood grievances, and felt the anger growing in him again at his father, who had so publicly berated him! That girl would pay, he knew, especially after what her people had pulled at the Stone of Broken Eggs. He had been coming up with some good ideas for keeping her in her place, but knew that it would not be good to mention this to his father, who obviously didn't understand, who had been fooled by her wiles. Well, he was smarter, and he was master. And he needed to stop thinking about her. Damn it, his father was right. She was only human. Just a meaningless little pet for her spoiled mistress, but really, she could belong to anyone. As opposed to, say, being a warrior and a fighter, having obtained the praise of the Mourning Sage, being instructed specially by his father in matters pertaining to national security, he was hundreds, no, thousands, no, immeasurably higher than her. It couldn't be measured. Damn it, he was going to prove his father right if he kept thinking about her at a time like this. There was nothing to think about. Just a…"

He almost bumped into his father when he stopped, and told the door to open, but, trembling with nervousness, he went in, turning to face Anduril in the middle of the room. The older elf shut the door with another command, and turned to Vanir.

"have you heard the queen's decision yet, Vanir-vodhr?"

Vanir was surprised at his father's use of the formal honorific, but bowed and said, trembling inwardly with excitement, "no, Father. Are we going to war?"

It seemed to Vanir that when he said this his father had never looked older than he did now. "Yes, my son. I am going to war, to fight the innumerable hordes of Men and return victorious, or not at all."

Vanir felt a panicky sensation in his stomach, as he clenched and unclenched his fists. "Am I not going to fight, then?"

"You are not going to fight with me on the open battlefield, in the southern sun, in heavy armor, facing the barbarian hordes" said his father sternly.

"Father, please! I am old enough to fight, I truly am! Haven't you seen me sparring with Arya and Danir? I am a man now, Father, a warrior, please! Can't I at least try?"

"Are you finished?" asked Anduril coldly, and Vanir felt the same sense of shame he had felt at the party, realizing that in trying to prove his superiority, he had degraded himself, except now the girl didn't have anything to do with it, only him, and he would never be allowed to battle now that he had so childishly begged.

"Yes, Father," he whispered, arms at his sides, not daring to look the man in the face.

"Good. Try to answer me like a man, then. The Queen has decided that all able-bodied elves should go to war, to confront our foreign enemies in honest battle. Left behind, will be the young, the injured, and the unfit for duty. Now, if you were Galbatorix, what would you do?"

The answer seemed so obvious to Vanir that he felt even more ashamed than before. "Send in infiltrators to take over our cities. But, sir, what about the defensive magic?"

"Humans are rather good at magic, contrary to what our slaves would have you believe. Accordingly, they may free the slaves, and use them to destroy the cities. You will take up your position as Lord Vanir until my return, and you will manage this house. Your responsibilities will be shared with a minimal guard, as you watch over the humans and left-behind; making sure no evil comes to this house."

"I don't need to be sheltered, Father, really. I can fight."

"Did I not just tell you that much fighting will take place here? Here, I give you this as a sign of my sincerity." Vanir looked in wonder at the sight of the sword hanging at his father's belt, which he removed, slowly and with an almost regretful look, and handed it to Vanir, who gently lifted the scabbard it was encased in, which was covered in elegant Elvish calligraphy that read, "I am Silmar, bringer of peace."

Vanir felt the exquisitely smooth lines from the leather scabbard pressing against his thumb as he rubbed his fingers on the scabbard, looking at the depictions of elves killing Men, Dwarves, and Urgals which lay upon it. Awefully, he wrapped his fingers around the jeweled hilt, and pulled it from its scabbard, the slim white blade gleaming in the dim light from the flameless lantern in the corner. He had held the sword before, but never like this, never with the possibility of wielding it in combat, or taking up the mantle of the House Haldthin. With a sudden exultation, he flourished the blade, spinning it around one hand, and, under the watchful eye of his father, reluctantly returned it to its sheath, which he placed at his feet until he could find a sword belt.

"Father, thank you," he breathed, bowing formally. The act had finally convinced him of his own importance, and he felt as if he were glowing with pride. Protector of the house indeed! How would Teibar and Tu'maril like that? And, he thought with a flash of excitement, my father won't be around to keep that human girl from getting punished! I can do what I like to her, and no one will stop me! And if father never comes back, then I'll be Lord! Let her try to be insolent then!

"You are most welcome. I leave tomorrow, and must prepare, so I have little time. My words are as follows; beware your temper, do not act rashly, do not indulge in vengeance, and regard your own life as less valuable than those you protect. Deal in kindness, not harshness, but always keep those who serve you in their place. Watch out for slippery roots while running, and never eat nightshade."

The last two lines were delivered with a completely straight face, but Vanir smiled as his father walked out the door. "Dad?" he asked, using the appellation spoken by children Teibar's age.

"Yes, Vanir?"

"Come back."

Anduril did not speak for a while, then said, as if to himself, "my father was a very strict man. He used to test our magical proficiency by placing poison in our food, and seeing if we could detect it magically. He once drove a girlfriend of mine out of the house with a stick because she refused to call him 'sir'."

Vanir waited uncertainly, unsure of where this was going.

"Perhaps I, too, am too strict with my children. At the very least, I cannot recall ever expressing my affection for my family, at least, not since the death of your mother."

"Yes, Father."

"I do it now, before going into battle, and quite possibly passing into the void. I love you, and your brothers, and our house, and our city, and our Empire. I am going to die in battle because of this love, but I have lived for three hundred and fifty-seven years, and perishing under a spell or blade seems the best way of concluding my long lifespan. Then, my son can take up his rightful position, and rule for centuries more, bringing glory to our house and city."

vanir felt quite overcome by emotion, but managed to conjure up a few appropriate words, fit for the last time he saw his father. "Thank you, Father. While you are absent, I will defend this family and this city at the expense of all else, even my own life. The House Haldthin shall be as safe as though there had never been a war."

"Thank you, son." And with that Anduril, son of Nali, left the room.


End file.
